Monthly Archives: July 2010

The production of Oklahoma!Was a smash hit drawing Five hundred eager spectators to theOutdoor stage on the Civic PlazaA cast of local residents having workedSix months to mount the show wereGratified that the threatened thunder stormsHeld off until long after the final applause had Echoed from the drug store wall.Audience members sweltered happilyFor three hours consuming large quantitiesOf succulent barbeque and anonymous white wineThe girls on stage meanwhile twirled in homespun pinaforesClacking character shoes on rough woodWhile veering to avoid the old man Gamely supporting the wall of Jud’s smokehouse Flapping in the stiffening breeze.There were no injuries and no emergenciesOnly periodic sirens from the shiny fire trucksHigh steppin’ from the central stationBrightly fringed surreys with theirSidelights blinking in the Indiana night.

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These days most oftenMy right front pocket bulgesWith a yellow tape named StanleyOne hundred-forty-four steel inchesOf retractable exactitudeGroaning in muted protestAs I strain the mainspring Over and againTaking careful measure of my lifeOf our life

One hundred forty-fourA holy number to be sureA witness to perfectionAnd to mystery.But my life does not add upTo such exalted sumsDoes anyone’s?I am forever tripping over random extrasFractions, decimalsJoyful and inconvenientToo much, or too little.

In this home, for instanceThe closet doorsNow sprung openWill not closeThe aperture is far too largeAnd it looks…Odd, or even funny.

I sigh,And yet I love thisCockeyed geometryWith all its gaps and anglesThe numbers which defy conventionThe swollen jointsThe openings pushed wideOur misbehaving picket fenceFor in these imperfectionsOne hundred forty-four or moreThere is the solace of integrityAnd the measure of our shared humanity.

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If we waited twenty yearsTo write our love songsThey would sound less like aSun-soaked romance novelWhere passion and attraction areImmutable, eternal andJust downright obvious.And more like the report of a Castaway on some desert island – Long days of hopingInterspersed with seasons ofRipe coconuts And occasional tropical stormsAbove all with the gradualSettling to a task from whichIn the end one does notWish to be rescued.Some few escape the islandAnd rightly so – for they are inMortal peril. But so many othersExchange the rigors of one locationFor a place not so differentA short journey or a dozen oceans distant.You don’t sing about these things. You simply liveAnd let the young ones have their dreams.

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What kind of idiotI ask myselfWould plan a weddingFor the afternoon of theBlooming World Cup FinalThe most important dayOf the year, hell of myEntire life, if our boysShould pull it offOnly a completely cluelessselfish self-centred gold-diggingpresent-grabbing fashion-obsessedbuxom curvaceoustraffic-accident-causingdrop-dead gorgeousbombshell that mylovestruck best friendIs so completely smitten withThat he can’t even bringHimself to make hersee reasonThat kind of an idiotThat’s who.And so here I amStanding at the altarNext to my oldest male companionDressed in morning greyWhile inwardly I curseThe bonds of friendshipThat are causing me to Commit this travesty ofDisloyalty to our nationI mean, look out thereHow many men are even here?Only the wimpsOr the unluckyOr the cluelessThe smart ones at least had the good graceTo get mysterious sudden illnessesOr simply to tell their better halfThe honest truth – that yesIn the end some things are More important than human loveAnd that while the average marriageMay only last for a handful of yearsA world cup victory is foreverAfter all, 1966 is a LONG time agoWe’re tired of living on other people’slegacy – it’s time for our own generationTo grab the memories with which to boreOur own offspring for the coming fifty yearsIn any case, I am not a victimI have a planAnd so I surreptitiously place the tinyspeaker in my ear and Turn the volume onNow, with my body still in placeI smile, while focusing all my deeper attentionsOn the action half a world away.The music swellsThe national anthem. No the wedding march.The congregation rises.I do so too, with tears in my eyesAs the teams shake handsAnd exchange tokens of respectHere comes the brideAnd God save the QueenIn my delirium I whisperGod save the brideMy friend the groom glaresAnd I smile apologeticallyAbout to begin, I tell himThe elderly vicar raises his handsIn blessing, and we’re offA cautious startLusty singing from the crowdA fair amount of action in the middlePunctuated by a long lectureFrom the man in chargeIncreasingly I am caught In a strange amalgam ofSport and marriage until I can No longer keep them separateThe match is reaching fever pitchThe end of extra timeThe two sides facing each otherIntently – having played their livesTo this moment of finalityThe dreaded penaltiesSo often our Waterlooour total undoingAnd now again todayOh why?!Everyone huddled in the center circleI wish to assume a fetal positionYet valiantly hold my upright stanceTwitching imperceptibly beneath my cummerbundThe only way out is the vowsEach one standing alone and staringAt their respective goalMy ears are buzzing withLong horns and obscene chantsBut now all falls silentMy friend stands aloneMagnificent, assuredThe whistle blowsDo you…Can you…Across the room I seeFifty misty-eyed menTransfixed – each with one handTo his earThe tension is unbearableWill he…Will he…Our hero takes one step forwardAnd calmly deliversHe does!!!!!!He does!!!!!!He doooooooooeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssss!My ears are on fireAnd as one there is aRoar of acclamation throughoutThe room as all the menAnd many of the womenLeap and cheerWith untold fervor and abandonWeeping uncontrollablyThe bride and groom embraceAnd lead the enraptured congregation Down the aisleAnd into the reception beyondWildly celebrating this Once-in-a-lifetime eventIt will surely be a long timeBefore any of us sleep tonightOn a whim at the doorI stop and turn Just in time to see the Mild-mannered man of the cloth pull a small deviceFrom his own earHe smiles and saysIt wasn’t this easyBack in ‘66